sharp, the stroke that pierces

the victim's heart

the sudden spurt of blood

flowing so fast, this bright crimson

streaking through the night

an abrupt interruption

on a crisp white shirt

before everything explodes

and decomposed flesh

sprinkles the ground.

in the countless stories

mass produced emotionless trash

they don't tell you

that vampires bleed

before the beautiful corpse

fades to ash littering

a glass-strewn parking lot.

they will never say

that these creatures can feel

and despite your unwillingness

to believe, you saw the look

on her face before she died.

illuminated by

the flickering neon sign

you kick a broken bottle

Coors label stuck in the bloody mud.

a makeshift weapon falling to the ground

you rub at the splinters

disinterested faces are turned away

in the restaurant's smeared windows

no one can see you

and yet you can't shake

the creeping knowledge that

someone saw you, someone

is ashamed.

it's a job, just a job

you repeat to yourself

hugging your chest

on the empty dark walk home

but the cold feeling

writhing through your gut

screams something different.

tears track clean lines

down your face

and a single thought

beats your mind

in chilly unrelenting precision

stabbing through your naïve

blind conviction

and you wonder:


you have become

the murderer you despise.

The formatting is forever screwed up, courtesy of my inability to work withthis system. There are actually line breaks, they are just invisible in this format. Constructive criticism or any comments you might compose as a result of reading this would be greatly appreciated. We're all writers here, and everyone knows writers feed on reviews. :)